Aziraphale blinked rapidly. “One of…” he trailed off in realisation. “You—You made…? Before you…?”
The demon turned away. “Yup.” He popped the ‘p’ sound, shrugging. The light in his eyes shuttered a little, flickering behind something deep and aching. Aziraphale started to move his hand before he realised what he was doing, then pulled it back and let it fall into his lap.
“I could show you, if you like.” Crowley’s tone was flippant, but the tension in his posture was unmistakable.
“Show me…?” asked Aziraphale.
Crowley held up a hand, flexing his fingers in a jerky wave. “The nebula. If you wanted.”
Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “Oh. Oh.”
Crowley waited, hand help up in offer. Aziraphale’s heart hammered in his chest. He felt altogether too human, some unknown chasm gaping at his feet.
“…alright.”
- from ‘An Angel who did not so much Fall In Love as Settle Into It Gradually’
7.5k words - on AO3 at works/19324027
underrated part of tennattate much ado: benedick’s slow but steady realization that beatrice is right about men and the accompanying face journeys
“If you let your mind dwell on rooms like this, you could end up being oddly sad and full of a strange, diffuse compassion which would lead you to believe that it might be a good idea to wipe out the whole human race and start again with amoebas.”
— Guards! Guards!, Terry Pratchett (via bealovesbees)
ace-attorney-dms
